An Evening With Mr. Vein (poem)

Still in a bit of a spooky mood. Thus we have Mr. Vein, revered teller of dark tales, and those who gather ’round him.

An Evening with Mr. Vein

There was something moving in the woods…
We listened with intent, garlic-heavy breath,
having just consumed an erstwhile vampire.
Mr. Vein gathered all our attention to his bosom
(gray, mottled thing that it was, more suited
to a moth monster than a man of his sensibilities)
and treasured the moment, not knowing when
when we’d all gather in his house of bones
to hear stories and, after hours of his low voice,
demand more til sunlight spread like a leaking wound,
spelling the end of our satisfying, unholy visit.

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